When We Fall (17 page)

“W
ow, this place is beautiful!” Elizabeth walked through Allison's foyer into the kitchen, where she could see the family room, dining room, and backyard all at the same time. “I love an open floor plan. It's so airy. Is that the right word?”

“Sounds good to me.” Allison smiled warmly.

It was nice to finally be living in a house again after so many years. Apartments in Manhattan came at such a premium that anything bigger than a modest two-bedroom was more than she'd ever been able to afford. Now her home was someplace she could take pride in. Someplace she could really put her stamp on. After all, Allison had always had a keen eye for interior design. She could sit for hours flipping through
Elle Decor
,
Architectural Digest
, and
House Beautiful
, earmarking pages with fabulous finds, some within her budget, most well beyond. But wasn't that the fun of it? Scouring shelter magazines and then hitting flea markets and estate sales to re-create a space that would cost ten times as much if you paid retail. For as long as
she could remember, she'd fantasized about working alongside an architect and builder to create her dream home and to then decorate it with unlimited funds. She wouldn't aggrandize—neither glitz nor overembellishment was her thing. Still, the home would be spectacular, with every detail just as she'd envisioned it. Fireplaces and window seats wherever possible. A true chef's kitchen, complete with professional appliances. And a bedroom with billowy white curtains opening to a breathtaking view. Because said home would most certainly be on the water.

“No sign of Buck.” Elizabeth peered around the corner. “I'd say that's a good start.”

“Seriously. What a jerk. I can't believe I let him get to me that way.” Allison motioned to the couch in the family room. “Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“Do you have Coke?” She sat down.

“Nope. How about Sprite?”

“Perfect.” Elizabeth was still admiring her surroundings. “By the way, I'd have freaked out about Buck too. It was kind of intense.”

“I felt like I was back in high school.” Allison joined Elizabeth with two Sprites and a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. They'd intended to meet for lunch, but Elizabeth had gotten caught up at a job interview. “Okay, so these were supposed to be for Logan, but I think we need to eat them.”

“Wow, you're like supermom. I
so
can't eat the cookies you baked for your son.”

“You
so
can, especially because I can make another batch before he gets home.”

“Any chance you want to adopt me?” Elizabeth laughed. “I could move in, say, tomorrow?”

“Well, thank you. But it's certainly nothing compared to Charlotte's house. That's a mansion if I've ever seen one.” Allison grabbed two cookies and handed one to Elizabeth.

“Yeah, but it's so impersonal, don't you think? Plus, she doesn't bake.”

“I see what you mean, but it's still gorgeous.”

“I guess. It's just hard to feel at ease when you're afraid to sit on a chair for fear of creasing the fabric or, God forbid, smushing a pillow.”

“You're too funny. Not that I don't love Charlotte, but it's definitely hard to believe you two came from the same parents. You did, right?” Allison raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, we did. I'll admit it if I must.”

“Speaking of Charlotte, I feel like she's been avoiding me a little. Is everything okay?”

“I think so. Though I'm always the last to know. We were out of town with my parents a couple of weeks ago and I'm pretty sure she's crazed when she comes back from a trip. Of course, she's permanently crazed, so I'm not really sure that would make a difference. What makes you think she's avoiding you?”

“She hasn't returned my three calls. And I kind of need to talk to her about the painting I'm doing for the Wincourt school gala.”

“Weird. She's usually really anal about that stuff.”

“I know.” Allison had thought the same thing.

She'd been with Charlotte on more than one occasion when someone had phoned about something as trivial as a
dress they wanted her opinion on or something as important as a doctor's appointment for Gia. She'd either dealt with it that very moment or sent herself an e-mail reminder to call back as soon as she was free. Allison had even gone so far as to comment on her impressive organizational skills. Could Charlotte be pissed off at her about something? Maybe Charlie had made a comment that had given her the wrong impression? Though, quite intentionally, she'd been careful not to speak badly about Charlotte to Charlie, namely, because she liked Charlotte and didn't think anything negative about her in the first place. But now she was questioning herself, replaying their conversations in her head to see where she might have gone wrong. The last thing she'd want to do was hurt or alienate Charlotte. Aside from Charlie, and now Elizabeth, Charlotte was the only friend she had in Wincourt. And Charlotte had been the first one to reach out to her in any kind of genuine way.

“Then again, she can be really moody and when she gets down sometimes she flies under the radar for a few days.”

“Oh, okay. I'm sure it's nothing.” Allison reached for another cookie. “So how are you? How was your interview?”

“It sucked. The guy was staring at my boobs throughout the whole thing. And my shirt wasn't even low-cut! I almost told him to take a picture—it lasts longer—but I need the money.”

“I hear you.”

“And of course I made the mistake of telling Charlotte about my job hunt while we were in Florida, so now she's harassing me every five minutes.”

“You guys have such a funny relationship.”

“You mean, because she thinks she's my mother?” Elizabeth
bit into her first cookie. “Wow, these are amazing. Is there anything you're not good at?”

“Plenty.”

“Like what?”

“Well, let's see. I have a hideous singing voice, though it doesn't stop me from belting out eighties hits at the top of my lungs in the car. I'm not particularly good at sports. Any sports. And I'm awful at anything technology related. Microsoft Word is about the extent of my computer knowledge, which is why I save everything on my desktop; otherwise, I'll never be able to find it again.”

“You don't e-mail?”

“A little. But only for work purposes. And I'd still rather call someone on the telephone.”

“Nick's like that too. He says social media has ruined all personal communications in the world.”

“I like Nick already.” Allison slipped off her shoes and folded her legs underneath her, simultaneously propping a pillow behind her back and tossing one to Elizabeth to do the same. “When do I get to meet him?”

“Oh, um, whenever. I kind of assumed Charlotte and Charlie had filled your head with bad things about him already.”

“No,” Allison lied. Both Charlotte and Charlie had offered targeted jabs at Elizabeth's boyfriend more than once. “And anyway, I never pass judgment without meeting someone first. Why don't they like him?”

“Because he's not fancy like they are.” Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “They assume that just because he doesn't make a ton of money or dress in expensive clothing that he's a loser.”

“That's not fair.”

“No kidding. You know what's remarkable? Never once has either of them asked me if Nick makes me happy.”

“Does he?”

“More than anyone will ever know.” Elizabeth looked down. “I don't talk about it much, but after I lost Cossette and then Rob left, I thought my life was over.”

“I can understand that.”

“Right, of course. I blamed myself, ya know? Obviously, now I get that it wasn't my fault. When I'm being rational. But I still think, what if I'd gone into her room to check on her? What if Rob had been home? What if she hadn't rolled onto her stomach? Or what if I'd been awake to watch her on the baby monitor? Would she still be alive? Would I still be married to Rob?” Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head.

“You can what-if yourself to death. No pun intended. Believe me. I've been there.”

“Yeah, but you couldn't have felt responsible for Jack's death. That was a tragic accident.”

“Oh really? Try this on for size.
What if
I'd gone on the ski trip with Jack and we'd driven instead of taking the bus?
What if
I'd tried to convince him it would be more responsible to stay home and continue looking for a new job?
What if
I'd watched the weather the night before and told him I didn't think the conditions were safe enough to be driving in? I've tortured myself with what-ifs too. But I can't imagine losing a child.”

“Yeah, I don't recommend it. The amazing thing is that Nick, who has no children, is the only one who really understands.
Aside from you, I mean. Sometimes I feel like Charlotte wants me to move past it already, like, it's been ten years, get on with it already! Nick realizes that it's a part of the fabric of who I am now and that that will never change.”

“I can appreciate that too. It's like the way people wonder why I've never remarried or even dated.”

“Exactly.” Elizabeth pulled her thick auburn hair off her face and twisted it into a loose bun. “I guess I just feel like Nick gets me. And he treats me really nicely, unlike Rob used to. And unlike Charlotte and Charlie treat him. Poor Nick doesn't get what he ever did to them.”

“That's tough.” Allison handed Elizabeth a napkin to dab the corners of her damp blue eyes.

“Yeah. Thank you.” She accepted the napkin gratefully, using it to blow her nose too. “Maybe we should move on to a happier subject! Like . . . hmmmm . . . the hottie at DJ Gourmet. No pressure, of course. Just marry him already!”

“Of course!” They both laughed as Allison's phone rang. She grabbed it off the side table. “Hello?”

“Hi, Allison.” Charlotte's clipped voice came across the line.

“Hey, Charlotte!” She and Elizabeth were still giggling, intoxicated by the buoyant shift in conversation.

“What's so funny?” Charlotte sounded subdued.

“Oh, nothing. I'm just sitting here with your sis.”

“Elizabeth is there?”

“Do you have another sister I don't know about?” For some reason this made them laugh even harder.

“I'll call back another time. Sorry to bother you.”

“It's no bother! I—” Allison started to say something else,
but before she could speak another word, Charlotte was gone. “That was strange. I think she just hung up on me.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“Great, thanks.” Allison sighed. Now more than ever, she was convinced there was something wrong. She'd just have to figure out what that something was.

•   •   •

“Hello?
Anyone here?” Allison called out, her voice echoing throughout the cavernous space.

She'd driven past the Alexander Gallery—situated on Egg Hill Road, prime real estate in downtown Wincourt—countless times, eager for a free moment to wander around the interior. But between shuttling Logan back and forth, to and from school and his various extracurricular activities, along with her usual errands, things around the house, and work commitments, she'd yet to have an opportunity. So when she'd received an introductory e-mail from Dempsey and the owner, Priscilla Alexander, had promptly invited her for a visit, Allison had jumped at the chance.

“Just a minute. I'll be right with you.” Allison looked around, trying to place the origin of the melodious voice. Moments later, an elegantly turned-out woman, most likely in her early sixties, Allison estimated, appeared from behind a white wall. “So sorry to keep you waiting. The phone hasn't stopped ringing all morning.” She held up a cordless receiver in her left hand and extended her right to shake Allison's. “I'm Priscilla Alexander. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Allison Parker. And the pleasure is all mine.” She was hardly able to keep her eyes from darting in every direction. “This place is spectacular.”

“Why, thank you.” Priscilla set the phone down on a nearby Lucite desk, sweeping her arm dramatically from one wall to the next. “Blood, sweat, and tears. And I didn't even create any of it!”

“One might say you created all of it. The watercolors are unique. I've never seen anything quite like them.” Allison approached a section of the gallery to her right where four sizable paintings were hung at alternating heights. “Is that support made of leather?” She pointed to one of them.

“You know your stuff.” Priscilla nodded.

She was a striking woman with prominent cheekbones, insightful brown eyes, and a head of thick, wavy silver hair extending well past her shoulders. Dressed elegantly in form-fitting tweed slacks and an eggplant-colored silk button-down cinched at her tiny waist, Priscilla belied the typical “artist type” Allison had been expecting. If anything, she looked more like an old-fashioned movie star.

“Thank you. There's always more to learn, though.”

“I like the way you think.” Priscilla nodded, revealing a warm smile. “So Dempsey tells me you're an artist too. Any friend of Dempsey's is a friend of mine. What a darling.”

“I am. Though I'm not sure my work compares to what you've got here.” They meandered from room to room together, winding in and out of small nooks, as if they were walking through a maze, while Priscilla narrated with background information on the various artists and their exhibits.

“As you can see, we don't confine ourselves to one genre. I like to offer a taste of everything. A creative smorgasbord, if you will. What's your preferred medium?”

“I'm like you. I prefer to dabble in different things. Oil,
acrylic, watercolor, pastel. Lately, I've been getting into more sculpting. I find it to be distinctively cathartic.”